


don't think about tomorrow.

by luna_e_stelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, lol peter says a bad word, may and tony being co-parents, may needs more love, peter's a disaster tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 13:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_e_stelle/pseuds/luna_e_stelle
Summary: Later, when they were sprawled out on the couch with late-night TV playing quietly, Tony glanced at him, cool and calculating. "What’s wrong, kid?"Peter pulled his blanket around him tighter and couldn’t find the energy to answer.---He can deal with the punches and the snarling words if it means May is happy.But then he can't.





	1. i don't sleep.

Peter wasn’t sure why he was counting months. It wasn’t as though the constant hammering in his chest or the seemingly eternal prickling at the base of his neck was going to disappear anytime soon; not if Joseph was around.

It had been six months since he had moved in. May was starry-eyed and giggly around him, and he was broad shouldered with an easy grin. When May introduced Joseph to Peter, the hairs on his arms stood straight and electricity ran down his spine. A feeling unfurled itself in his gut, on the base of his neck, that was usually only reserved for muggers, and his eyes had flickered, looking desperately for the best route to escape. They had shaken hands, _strong grip, Peter,_ and it was only the hopeful gleam in May’s eyes that made Peter swallow his unease and press his mouth into a tight lipped smile.

That was mistake one.

Mistake two was agreeing to be left alone with him, to have some time to get to know each other.

"It’ll be good for you, baby," May had said, smoothing back his hair. Peter nodded. It wasn’t, in fact, good for him. The moment she had left the apartment, Joseph had turned on a sports game and Peter felt like an intruder in his own house. He pretended not to notice the glares he was getting, as if he were breathing too loud.

His third mistake, one made a week before Joseph moved in, was not telling May how uncomfortable he really was. She was more important than his feelings, anyway.

"I’m not trying to replace Ben," May had promised, and guilt stuck in his throat, a wave of rolling emotions that he tried to work through. "I never would. I really like Joe, but I need to know if you’re okay with this."

He swallowed, smiled, and tried to forget the menacing glares and the underhand comments that Joseph said whenever she wasn’t in the room. "You’re happy with him, right?"

May had let out a breathy laugh and grinned, and Peter hadn’t seen her that happy since Ben. "Yes. I’m very happy with him."

"Then I am, too." Peter helped them move some boxes into the apartment, and it felt like his fate was being sealed. He spent the rest of the day with Ned and MJ, walking around Central Park and drinking coffee. They had sat on the grass and he rubbed the back of his neck and pulled a loose thread on his hoodie, trying not think about the sense of dread building in his gut.

\--

Peter walked back home slowly. It was raining, and people rushed around him, under umbrellas and holding bags over their heads. His hair was damp, the curls sticking to his forehead, and rain dripped on his phone screen when he answered it.

"Hey, kid." Tony’s voice had become a relief; it normally came with a night working in the lab and staying at the compound.

"Hi, Mister Stark." Peter ducked under the awning of a souvenir shop and shivered in his sweater. "What’s up?"

"Do I need a reason to call my favourite friendly neighbourhood superhero?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, you are always going on about how busy and important you are, Mister Stark. I’m just amazed that you could find time in your busy schedule to talk to me."

"Wow, touchy, are we?" Tony mused. "Pizza’s on the menu tonight and your aunt’s on late shift, so I’m sure I could clear my busy schedule if you want to come ‘round."

A knot loosened in Peter’s chest. It was a Friday, so he didn’t have any homework. Decathlon had been cancelled, so he had used the free time to do an extra patrol, and May wouldn't be home until tomorrow.

"Yeah, sounds awesome," he said, not even trying to keep the grin from his voice. "I’ll just check with Aunt May."

"Okay, kid. See you soon."

Peter sent a quick text to May and started walking with less dread in his chest, but he only made it to the lobby of his apartment building when his phone buzzed as she called.

"Did you get my text?" He asked as a greeting, but then smiled, sheepishly, and added on, "Uh, hello. Did you get my text?"

"Yes, baby." May sounded distracted, and he could picture her in her nurse uniform, standing at the front desk of the ER, scribbling down notes and ordering other nurses around. "But I think Joe was looking forward to spending the night with you. Guy time, or whatever."

"I thought you promised not the call it ‘guy time’," Peter said, but his voice fell flat and his mouth went dry.

"Man time, then."

He leant back against a wall and shut his eyes. "Please, Aunt May. I think I left some homework over there anyway. From when I stayed on Tuesday." It was a lie, but he figured that he was lying to her so much these days that one more didn’t matter.

"If Joe says okay, then I guess. But ask him first." May muttered something to another nurse. "I gotta go, sweetie. We’ll go out for dinner tomorrow night, okay?"

"Uh…" He bit his lip, tapped his fingers on his leg. "Yeah. Sure. Bye."

The first time that Joseph hit Peter was three days after he had moved in. Peter couldn’t remember why, and he couldn’t remember why May was out or what had gotten them into a fight in the first place. He remembered dodging the first hit, letting his spider-sense take over and push Joseph away into the kitchen counter. Both of their eyes had widened, and Peter planted himself firmly on the ground and refused to move as Joseph stormed back over and hit him so hard that his neck snapped to the side and blood crawled down his cheekbone.

Peter slowly climbed the stairs to the apartment, hands shaking, anger and fear and humiliation stirring in his gut and his chest, making it hard to breath. Asking the man for anything made his cheeks burn with shame, and he hated it, more than anything.

When he walked in, Joseph was on the couch, feet on the coffee table and a beer in his hand. He didn’t even glance at Peter, or acknowledge him in any way, and Peter shuffled nervously before stealing himself and walking over.

"Um, Joseph?" He started, and waited as the man sighed deeply and used his free hand to turn down the blearing sports game with the remote.

"What?" He snapped, taking a swig from the bottle.

"May, um — May said to ask you if it was okay that I go out tonight." Peter tugged anxiously on his backpack strap. "For work. So, I’m getting paid and everything."

Joseph didn’t know that Peter knew Tony Stark, let alone know, that after much insisting from Tony, Peter was officially paid as Tony’s personal intern. All he knew was that he worked at Stark Industries.

Peter sometimes thought that if he told Joseph how close he was with Tony, then maybe he would stop. One look into Joseph’s glaring eyes always made him rethink, though.

The beer was slammed down on the coffee table, hard. Peter flinched, and Joseph towered over him. He kept his eyes trained into the centre of the man’s chest, counted his breaths. "What, so you think you can get out of all your chores now? Slack off again?"

"I can do them before I leave," Peter said quickly, clenching his jaw as Joseph huffed a laugh and looked to the television, glancing at the score.

"No fucking point having you around," he muttered, before looking back. "Fine. Get out of here. I don’t wanna see you for the rest of the night."

Peter nodded, turned, started for the door before the hairs on his arms stood up and goosebumps flickered on his skin and he had to stop himself from jumping up to the roof. Joseph pushed him, made him stumble a few paces.

"What do you say?" The mocking voice bled through to his bones, and made him shiver all over.

Peter stilled and shut his eyes. "Thank you."

\--

He didn’t really speak that much anymore. Not to Happy on the way to the compound, or to anyone in class, or even to Tony or May. Not much, anyway.

He knew that they had noticed something was wrong, mainly because the pair of them were horrible at hiding their worried glances and their attempts to cheer him up. Whenever they asked, trying desperately to sound nonchalant, he murmured something about school and being tired, and they let it drop. The tired part wasn’t a lie, at least. Ever since Joseph started sleeping over, his spider-sense screamed danger, his mind worked too fast for him to grasp onto a solid thought. He couldn’t sleep. His brain had turned to liquid, and lunch at school had turned into a sleep period, and Tony had gotten used to waking him up in the middle of the lab and moving him to bed.

Peter figured that Tony and May had been talking to each other recently, too. Every time he stayed at the compound, Tony somehow knew exactly what pizza toppings were his favourite or what ice-cream to keep in the fridge or even what shows to put on TV. May had started asking him about his work at the lab, about what crimes he had managed to stop despite her still getting used to the whole Spider-Man thing, trying to get him to talk more.

It made the hole in his chest close up for just a while when he thought about it, but not for long.

"Can I stay here tonight, Mister Stark?" He asked, dumping his bag on the floor and sitting at his workbench.

"‘Course, kid. May okay with it?" Peter nodded, waved goodbye as Tony ran out to make a call.

Peter loved Tony’s lab. It was filled to the brim with high-class technology and gadgets that he used to dream about. And best of all, Tony had given him his own workspace, for Spider-Man or school or anything he was interested in.

The giddiness of knowing Iron Man and working with Iron Man and having dinner with freaking Iron Man somehow had never really worn off, even when he was more comfortable with Tony than just about anyone in the world.

His spider-sense had dulled down by the time he started working on his web-shooters. It always dulled down when he was at the compound, and with Tony’s rock music softly playing in the background, his fingers working swiftly, pulling apart different pieces and adding new ones, he could finally relax. He was safe.

When Tony came back, Peter didn’t notice. His eyes were stinging with exhaustion and he was fitting his shooters on his wrist, adjusting them and making sure they were perfect so intently that when someone tapped him on the back, all he could see were glass shards shattering above his head and a bone crushing grip throwing him into the wall and bruised knuckles punching his cheek.

So, of course, he kicked them away and flipped over onto the table, with his shooters pointed directly at Joseph, because it wasn’t fair and he didn’t want to be hurt anymore and he was supposed to be safe.

What he hadn’t thought about in the split second decision, however, was the impossibility of Joseph being in the lab. Tony, instead, had wide eyes and his hands held up in surrender. It was Tony. It was just Tony.

"Mister Stark?" His voice shook, and his hand did, too, when he lowered it and slid off the table.

"Shit, kid," Tony said, a smirk growing on his face. "Count me warned not to sneak up on you."

"I’m so sorry — I just, I didn’t know," His words trembled, and his chest heaved. "I’m really — I just, I’m sorry—"

"It’s okay, Pete." Tony’s smirk fell. "Really."

"I’m… I just—" Peter couldn’t breathe, not through the snake coiling around his lungs and squeezing. He had hurt Tony. He had hurt one of the few people that he loved and he felt safe around, and now he had ruined everything.

"Hey, hey," Tony said, with a gentleness that Peter didn’t know he had; at least not until he had started using it the past few months. "Breathe, okay? It’s alright. I promise. Just breathe."

Tony’s hand was on his shoulder, and he tensed for moment, before listening and breathing and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, but Tony just rolled his eyes and ruffled Peter’s hair and asked if he wanted to keep on working.

Peter nodded, but he didn’t really work. He ate pizza and sat by Tony as he worked on one of the many hot rods littered around the lab. When he dozed off it was only eight-thirty, and he woke up just enough to remember Tony taking him to him bed. He remembered Tony soothing back his hair, just for a moment, too.

\--

Their favourite Thai place was empty, and it was just him and May. No Joseph.

"How’s school?" She was asking, and although Peter was more than happy to be spending time with her, he knew that her small talk was just a lead into the serious questions. She was going to ask him what was wrong and he was going to have to lie to her again.

"Okay, I guess," he said, picking at a fish cake, pressing the prongs of the fork into it without any thought.

"Not too stressful?" May sounded anxious, even if she was trying to hide it.

He shook his head. May bit her lip and looked down. The snake around his lungs coiled just a bit.

Peter wasn’t sure when anger had turned into fear. At first, he had meant to tell May. He really had. He tried to find the right time to tell her, typed out text messages, hovered his finger over the call button. After the first month, though, of watching the happy gleam in her eyes whenever Joseph walked into the room and the smile that grew on her lips when they talked, he stopped trying. It was simple, really, and now he was falling down a dark hole with no chance of escape.

"Baby?" Peter met her eyes as she spoke. "Am I doing something wrong? Are you mad at me?"

His heart froze. "What?"

"You’re not yourself, Peter," she said, struggling to keep her voice level. "Tony’s noticed it, too. Joe says it’s just part of being a teenager, but this isn’t you. We’re worried, baby. I’m worried."

The snake hissed, squeezed and squeezed until his brain turned to liquid and made the room spin. His fork snapped in his grip, making him blink and put it down.

"May, you’re not… I’m not mad at you," he said. "I never could be."

She reached over the table and grabbed his hand. "Then what is it?"

It was as though a knife were being held against Peter’s throat. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t speak or words would slide from his tongue like blood from a wound and she would know. He shook his head and pulled his hand from hers, instead.

"I need some air," he choked, pushing away from the table and into the night.

The freezing air cut at his lungs as he gasped it in, and he tugged his hair and turned away from May as she came rushing out a moment later, shoving her purse back into her bag.

"Peter," she pleaded, and tears shone in her eyes and his own stung.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How he was willing to put up with the punches and the scathing words and the hopelessness in his chest if it meant she was going to be happy. He wanted to hug her and never let go.

He didn’t, though. Peter bolted, and he didn’t stop running until his tears had dried and May had stopped calling him. He sat on the edge of building, looking over and wondering if he would ever want to jump. It wasn’t an alien possibility anymore.

Tony rang, and he let it buzz for a few seconds.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Peter asked before he could get a word in.

There was a pause from the other end of the phone, and then a sigh. "Of course. You know you always can."

Peter nodded, pointlessly. "Is May okay?"

Another pause. A car rolled up to the curb below him. "She will be, once I tell her that you’re safe. Come down. Safely."

He jumped and landed on his feet. It didn’t hurt, and Peter figured that to do any damage, he would need a much taller building. Tony’s face was expressionless when he hopped in the passenger seat.

Later, when they were sprawled out on the couch with late-night TV playing quietly, Tony glanced at him, cool and calculating. "What’s wrong, kid?"

Peter pulled his blanket around him tighter and couldn’t find the energy to answer.

\--

MJ was cool to hang out with. They went to abandoned buildings and streets overflowing with graffiti and took pictures. They went to small coffee shops and shared headphones as she sketched weird people that passed the window. When they met up with Ned on Sunday, the bruise on his cheekbone hadn’t quite disappeared yet, and he figured that they must have been texting each other, too, because Ned showed up with chocolate covered churros and a tense look in his eyes.

Surprisingly, Peter didn’t mind. He smiled for the fist time in days. When MJ hoped off the train at her station with a _later, losers_ and a peace sign, Ned glanced at him.

"You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong," he said. "But I think you should tell someone."

"Nothing’s wrong, Ned," Peter snapped. "God, can everyone just quit asking me that?"

And then that he realised he was proving Ned’s point more, and that he didn’t get angry, ever. Except, he was angry, and he had been since Joseph, and he didn’t know what to do. Peter looked out the window of the train. He could tell Ned. Ned would tell May and maybe he would never see Joseph again. Peter could tell Tony. Tony might be disappointed or mad at him for letting it happen, but he would fix everything. Tony would help.

"Nothing’s wrong," he repeated, quietly. Ned didn’t believe him. Peter didn’t blame him.

He couldn’t tell anyone, he decided as he swung through the city, wind whipping against him and the knot in his gut loosening. He was Spider-Man, a superhero, and superheroes didn’t let their aunt’s boyfriend beat them up. Superheroes didn’t let normal people scare them.

"Anything on the scanners?" Peter asked.

Karen was quiet for a moment, processing. "There seems to be a disturbance one street down. A Caucasian male has possession of a weapon and is brandishing it to a young woman."

Peter let himself fall off the building and caught himself at the last second.

The mugger was easy to take care of. He was webbed up to the wall in less than ten seconds, and he waited with the girl until the police came. He could fix this; could help people that needed it and stop people who deserved it. It was so much easier when he was Spider-Man.

Dusk fell away, and the night was hauntingly quiet, for Queens, at least. Karen didn’t get frustrated with him asking her to check the scanners every three minutes, but then he guessed that she wasn’t programmed to get frustrated. The quiet was as unnerving as it was frustrating; the quieter it was, the louder his thoughts were. Then he felt selfish, because if it was quiet, it meant more people were safe.

"Hey, Karen?" Peter settled onto the ledge of a building’s fire escape.

"Yes, Peter?" Her voice was warm and open, as always.

He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "If Mister Stark found out something about me that he wasn’t supposed to… D’you think he’d be disappointed?"

"That depends, Peter," she said curiously. "As my collected data on both you and Mister Stark suggest, I have no reason to believe that he has been disappointed in any of your decisions. Though, his reaction does ultimately depend on what this is."

"If it was something big," he persisted. "Something that I could stop, but not really."

"Is there something you would wish to tell me, or perhaps a trusted adult such as Mister Stark, Peter?" Karen asked, and for the first time, he actually was annoyed at how good her programming really was.

"No," he sighed.

He felt oddly detached, and maybe it was the fact that he was looking down at his city, safe and talking to Karen’s soothing voice.

"Even if there was, you’d report it straight back to Mister Stark." His words sounded slightly moody, like he was sulking at her for telling on him for getting home late.

"I only report urgent situations to Mister Stark," she said, almost endearingly. "Such as if I conclude your life or wellbeing to be in danger. Our conversations are otherwise private."

"What about that time I got tangled in the nice lady’s clothesline? That wasn’t life-threatening."

"I simply believed that Mister Stark would find the situation humorous." Karen had said it with such an innocent tone that Peter huffed.

"Right."

When he crawled into his room in the middle of the night and changed, May was sitting on the couch in the living room, TV off and hugging her knees. He curled up next to her without a word and he gently put a blanket around her when she fell asleep.

\--

That night, like most nights, the prickling on his neck didn’t dull and he watch the sun rise over the city. He shivered into his clothes and crept through the silent house, into the kitchen. The pipes in the walls clanked as a shower turned on. There was a sharp stab on his spine, and he spun.

Joseph was snarling at him. The snake woke.

"It was your job to do the dishes last night," the man said, and walked over to the fridge, opening it and taking out a carton of milk. Peter stayed perfectly still. Joseph flicked on the kettle and then he pushed Peter against the wall hard enough to make stars dance in the air. "But you don’t even fucking show up for dinner. May got worried. She’s in a shit mood all night, thanks to you."

Peter didn’t speak. It would only make it worse.

"There’s no fucking point having you around. You know that, right?" Except, maybe he was wrong, because the side of his head exploded in a white burst of pain and when he blinked, he was on the floor. "Answer me when I speak to you."

His ribs exploded, too, as leather boots kicked them. "Yes," Peter gasped. "I know."

At school, he kept his headphones in until the teacher walked in. Ned wouldn’t stop looking at him, at the swollen, purple bruise. Classmates whispered, and his ears heard every single one. They weren’t that close to the truth, but their gazes made it hard to focus, made him want to shrink away.

Flash, however, wasn’t whispering. "Parker couldn’t win against a fourth grader if he tried. I’ll actually bet it was that."

Flash had never really gotten to Peter. His insults were stupid and barely insults to begin with, and besides, nothing could really get Peter mad. That was before, though.

"Maybe he was running away, instead." Peter tensed a scrunched up piece of paper bounced off his back, onto the floor. "Oi, Penis! Is that it? Were you running away?"

"Ignore him," Ned whispered, but Peter clenched his jaw and tensed again at another piece of paper.

"Wait, maybe it was a third grader," Flash mused.

Exhaustion wracked his bones. Everything was too loud, too much. He could hear every breath and every heartbeat, every scratch of pen. His own heart rattled, faster and faster, his chest filling like a balloon, and it rose into his throat, expanding more and more — and a piece of paper hit his back.

"You can’t tell me it was a second—"

"SHUT UP!" The balloon had burst, and it left his throat torn and stinging.

The following silence was nearly as loud as his shout, and the wide eyes staring at him made blood rise up to his cheeks. He clenched his shaking hands, tried to steady his heaving breath.

"Mister Parker!" The teacher, Ms. Davis, flustered, and the bell rang overhead.

As people scurried up from their desk, Peter stayed seated. He looked out the window as Flash passed and worked his jaw.

"Do you want me to wait?" Ned asked hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if he was going to get yelled at too.

"No, it’s fine," he sighed, and waited for Ned to leave the room before trudging up to where Ms. Davis was waiting expectantly.

"I hardly think that that was acceptable behaviour, Mister Parker," she said. Peter glanced out the window longingly, just for a second, before biting his lip and looking at the ground. "I’m not quite sure what was being said by who, but I know that you shouldn’t have raised your voice that extremely."

"Sorry, Ms. Davis." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I just got frustrated. It won’t happen again."

She was studying him, he could feel it, and he wanted to be far, far away. He tried to remember the lab last night, the music that was playing and smell of oil and metal.

"I would hope not," she decided, finally. "May I ask how you got that bruise?"

His eyes snapped up, heart beating wildly. "It was just — I just… walked into a door."

Ms. Davis looked at him for a long moment. He held her gaze. "Make sure to put some ice on it. It looks sore."

Peter nodded numbly.

"Now, off you go to class, Mister Parker," she ordered, and he hurried to grab his books.

As soon as he left the classroom, the halls were abandoned, and running out of the building was just a bit too easy. He tugged on his mask some twenty minutes later and found a nice, high abandoned building to sit on. The sun warmed his skin, and his eyelids got heavy, and he let them close.

When the sound of repulsers got louder and louder, Peter didn’t even move his head from where it was leaning on the side of the brick wall. His eyes opened, though, and he watched as the Iron Man suit came closer.

"Last time I checked, school wasn’t out," Tony quipped from behind the helmet.

His arms circled around his stomach.

"Your aunt’s gonna have both of our heads if she finds out you’re skipping." Tony’s voice was still light, but Peter knew he was worried. He sighed.

"I just… I needed to be away from everything," he admitted quietly.

Tony carefully got out of the suit and sat next him. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.


	2. i can't breathe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it all comes tumbling down.

From the corner he was curled up in, Peter could hear his own name being yelled. He could hear May defending him and screaming back at Joseph for speaking about him like that.

Peter wished she wouldn’t. It would only make it worse when she was gone.

Joseph and May were a happy couple. They had had about one fight in the six months he had been living in the apartment, and agreed with just about everything. Except Peter, apparently.

When the front door shut, he prayed that it was Joseph who had left. He prayed that May would come into his room and apologise for the yelling.

"Peter!" Joseph shouted, and Peter curled into himself tighter. "Get out here! Now!"

He could sneak out the window and pretend he had never been home. But that would only make it worse later on.

As soon as he walked into the living room, his spider-sense flared and he let Joseph grab him by the arm and throw him against the wall. His shoulder thudded against it, feeling as though the bones had shattered beneath his skin.

"This is all your fault," the man snarled, and Peter didn’t even have time to suck in a breath before Joseph kicked him. "Your fault that May can’t see what a useless piece of shit you are."

Peter swallowed his screams, tried to blink the tears from his eyes. He was pulled up roughly, slammed against the wall with a hand around his neck.

"She’d be better off if you were fucking dead." The hand squeezed and Peter choked, as if the snake was coiling around him again.

A fist collied with with his stomach and he doubled over, gasping for air. He was kicked again and again and again, and he realised that he could kill Joseph. He could kill Joseph so easily; throw him into a counter, punch him in the head with all his strength.

Shock ran through him like lightning, the thought burned into his brain as though he had been branded by it, and it was enough to make him grab Joseph’s leg and pull him to the ground. Joseph landed with a heavy thud, but Peter barely waited to hear it. He was running, sprinting faster than he ever had in his life out of the apartment and away from Joseph.

When he stopped, gasping and holding his ribs, he was streets away. Far enough away that he knew he didn’t have to worry about being found. But he was alone, without his phone or his suit or even his web-shooters.

Maybe he could find a building. One tall enough to work.

But that made a helpless kind of sound crawl out of his throat and his arms wrap around him tighter. Peter checked his pockets. There was a handful of money, maybe enough to get him out of the city, and he walked back to the main road and hailed a taxi.

"Avenger’s Compound, please." The driver flickered his gaze in the mirror, suspicious, but didn’t care enough to argue.

When he arrived, and after he payed the driver, it was hours past sunset, and Peter’s eyes stung with exhaustion and his heart was still beating just a bit too fast.

"Good evening, Mister Parker." F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang from above him as he trudged into an elevator. "Mister Stark has been informed of your arrival, and he tells you that he will see you soon in the main living room."

"Thanks, Fri," Peter murmured, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He didn’t go to the living quarters at all. Peter went down to the lab and crawled under a desk in the corner of the room and tried not to think. The bruise on his face was almost gone, he could tell. The ones on his ribs, however, would still probably take a few hours to clear up completely, and they hurt. They always did.

He heard Tony enter the lab a few minutes later.

"He is currently underneath the table in the left-handed corner," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said quietly, as though she were whispering it.

Tony walked over and bent down, eyebrows furrowed but a warm look in his eyes that wrapped around him. "Hey, kid."

Peter hugged his knees tighter. "Hi."

"You wanna come out?" Tony asked. Peter shook his head. He felt safe in the dark corner, hidden away from everything.

Tony sat down then, shuffled over slowly so that he was sitting against the wall, side by side. Peter would normally make a joke about him being too old, but he couldn’t find the energy to open his mouth.

"So, what are you doing here?" Tony’s voice wasn’t accusing or worried, just curious.

Peter shrugged.

"Your aunt know you’re here?"

Peter shook his head again. He could feel Tony studying him, trying to figure out what was wrong, what had happened.

"You gotta give me something here, kiddo," he said, tilting his head.

Peter shut his eyes and rested his head on his knees. Tony did nothing except wait patiently. "I’m so… tired."

The answer must have been surprising, as well as how thick his voice was with emotion, exhaustion.

"You’re not sleeping well lately." It wasn’t even a question, but Peter nodded anyway. The heavy bags under his eyes gave it away. "Is it school?"

He felt like Tony knew it had nothing to do with school, and he shook his head.

"Can you tell me?" Tears sprung to his eyes, and the snake hissed. "Pete?"

"I can’t," he said, and it was broken off with a sob. He knew that he needed to leave, needed to run away and never come back, but he didn’t want to. He realised, in that moment, that he wanted Tony to know, that he wanted the loneliness in his chest to stop being so consuming, that he just wanted Tony to help him.

"Why not?" Tony rested a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away.

"I don’t know how." His throat stung and his chest heaved and spasmed, and he felt like he was going to burst.

"Peter." He looked at Tony, and the man was more serious than he had ever seen him. He was putting equations together and coming out with a solution, taking apart every bit of minuscule detail from the past months. "Is someone hurting you?"

Peter’s breath hitched and his lies were coming apart, as though he were pulling a loose thread and the rest of the fabric was falling apart with it. The snake hissed and bit and tore his insides apart. He gave a jerky nod.

The room dropped in temperature, everything too bright and too much. Shock was festering itself within the air.

"Who?" Tony Stark was an Avenger. He was one of the most successful businessmen of his time, and his enemies feared him over anyone else. His tone reminded Peter of that.

He started shaking, the back of his neck prickling so hard it hurt, and sobs were suddenly ripped from his throat and tears slicing through his cheeks. He couldn’t say, couldn’t make the words come from his mouth. His mind spun along with the room, anxiety rising up inside him so fast that he wasn’t entirely sure who he was anymore.

The hand that grabbed the base of his neck wasn’t threatening. It soothed down his screaming senses and he leaned into it, squeezed his eyes shut.

"Joseph," he gasped, and the name made his throat close and his heart hammer faster. "May’s boyfriend."

Tony pulled him into a hug, tangled a hand in his hair and held onto Peter as he cried. Six months of pain flooded out, and he shook and couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think past the arm around him and the hand soothing his hair down. They stayed like that for a long time, until Peter’s eyes were sliding shut and his head was limp on Tony’s shoulder. He felt clogged up, his limbs too heavy to move, but the sharp knot of anxiety in his chest was loose and softened.

"How long?" Tony asked quietly.

Peter was too tired to evade the question. "Since he moved in."

The arms around Peter tightened, and he buried his head into Tony’s shoulder and let himself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, he startled awake when something brushed his still sore ribs.

"It’s okay," Tony said softly. "Just figured you should sleep in a real bed."

Peter glanced around. His bedroom was bathed in darkness, with only a sliver of light through the open door shining onto them. He rubbed his eyes and wrapped an arm around his ribs.

Tony noticed, because of course he did. "Pete."

"It’s fine," he whispered, but he sat up anyway and didn’t let himself think before he tugged his shirt up. The bruises were yellow, fading still. "They’ll be gone soon."

For the first time since Peter had known him, Tony’s eyes shone with tears. "I’m so sorry, kid."

He let the shirt fall back down and curled forward onto Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t know what the next day would bring, but he knew that Tony would help.

\--

Peter woke late. Past midday, actually. His head was pounding and his mouth dry.

"Good afternoon, Peter," F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted. Peter jumped. "Mister Stark is currently in a phone call. Would you like me alert him that you are awake?"

A grunt made its way out of his throat, before he coughed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Uh, no thanks, Fri."

It took a lot of strength to get out of bed, but he pulled a sweater over his t-shirt and checked his bruises in the mirror. They were gone completely, leaving nothing but pale skin.

He walked down the hallway, stopping at the end of it and peering around the corner. Tony was standing at the window of the living room, holding a phone to his ear.

"Yeah, the sooner the better," he was saying, running a hand through his hair. "And… can you make sure that your, ah… that it’s just us three. Don’t bring anyone. He’d be more comfortable with just us."

Peter tugged the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and tried to breathe.

"Don’t stress yourself out, May." There was a pause, and Tony started pacing and Peter was frozen with an all-consuming fear. "He’s safe. I promise."

The snake hissed.

"Be here at about half-past five?" Tony turned and jumped when he saw Peter looking at him from the end of the hallway. He let silence stretch out as the person on the other end of the phone talked. "I always will. Hey, I gotta go. Talk soon."

Peter broke eye contact first. He rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat self-consciously. "You were talking to May?"

He couldn’t hide the panic in his voice, and Tony motioned for him to follow. He did, and they walked into the kitchen, and he sat down while Tony made him hot chocolate. The only sound was the kettle boiling and the television softly playing from behind them.

"Pete," Tony started, setting the mug down and sitting on the stool next to him. "I need to know what this man did to you."

Coiling around his lungs, the snake laughed. He looked down into the steaming mug as if it would make him disappear. He hoped it would, anyway.

"Peter?"

"You saw the bruises," he mumbled, clenching his jaw. The marble bench was cold against his hands, even through his sweater.

Tony’s eyes were burning his skin, not leaving. "How often?"

Peter met Tony’s gaze quickly before dropping it again, staring at the mug and tracing the cool stone with his fingertips. "Whenever May wasn’t there, just about. Every day or two, I guess."

His fingers moved to the rim of his mug, and it was so hot that it almost burnt. It was quiet again. Tony was still watching him, studying him.

"I’m not an equation, Mister Stark," Peter said quietly. "You don’t have to figure anything out. I’m telling the truth."

"Hey," Tony said, even more serious, eyebrows furrowed and voice suddenly sharp. "Pete, I’ve never doubted you, not for a second. I screwed up, and I missed the signs and you had to pay for that. I’m just trying to figure out how to fix this. How to make sure you’re going to be okay."

Warmth was filling his chest, something so uncommon in the past months that he sucked in a breath. His throat stung, and his eyes did as well.

"This is my fault," he whispered. "I could have stopped him. I’m supposed to be Spider-Man, but I didn’t even stand up to —"

Tony cut him off. "No. This isn’t on you, kid. This is so far out of your control. Abuse can hurt anyone."

_Abuse_  hung in the air, thick and dangerous and scary. He felt kind of empty suddenly, like his soul was stretched too thin.

"I wanted to kill him." The words were near silent and heavy. "Or I realised how easily I could. I was going to, I think, eventually. If he had kept on doing it."

The gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump, but he didn’t flinch away. He couldn’t look at Tony, though, because he couldn’t handle the disgust that was surely going to be on his face, or the disappointment, or the anger.

"You’re a good person, Pete," and the hand on his shoulder was warm as Tony spoke. "You’re a good person who’s been through so much bullshit and’ve somehow managed to get better."

Peter looked at Tony, and there was nothing but warmth. It was genuine and supporting and it gave him the courage to ask a question that he knew he should have known the answer to. But he just had to know.

"Are you gonna make me go back?" The expression on Tony’s face gave the answer away, as did the bone-crushing hug he was pulled into.

"God, kid," he said. "Never. I’m never letting you go back to him."

He felt safe. When they pulled away, the feeling didn’t disappear. He drank his hot chocolate in mostly quiet, and it felt like a blanket wrapping around his shoulders and making him light and contempt.

"We have to tell May." Tony’s face was easy but questioning, and the blanket slowly twisted back into the snake, twirling around his lungs. "She’s coming here after work, and we can work out what to do from there."

His head shook frantically before he even realised he was doing it, his eyes wide. "What? No. May can’t know."

"Pete, she has to. This can’t go on." It made sense, of course. But just because it made sense, it didn’t mean that it had to happen. He had lied so much to her lately, with Spider-Man and then Joseph. He could picture her face crumbling and her happiness dissolving before him.

"No." Peter sounded angry. He sounded scared. Panic fluttered in his chest, getting stronger and stronger. "She can’t know."

"Pete," Tony said, and he reached out to gently grab his arm. Peter flinched away, though, and scrambled from his seat.

"You have no fucking right to — You can’t just —" Anger snapped inside him, aggressive and red and burning hot. "She’s happy with him — You don’t —"

"You think she would be happy if she knew what he was doing to you?" Tony was being so logical, so simple, but Peter couldn’t cling onto his words. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t think through the prickling on his neck and his mind screaming at him. He couldn’t even breathe.

"Tony — I can’t—" The anger disappeared as quickly as it came, and it swirled into desperation. "Please don’t make me."

Tony slowly came closer, gently held that back of his neck and spoke softly. "Breathe, kiddo. You’re okay."

"I can’t tell her."

"Just breathe. Try and match me." Tony tugged him closer, and Peter went willingly, wrapping his arms around him tight and trying to match the exaggerated breathes that Tony was taking. Tony waited a while, and then he started talking quietly. "You’re so brave, Pete. You were brave last night when you told me, even if you thought you couldn’t, and you’ve been brave since that asshole came into your life. You can be brave when you tell May. I know you can."

He listened to Tony’s heartbeat, listened as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. Tony had never lied to Peter, not once.

So if Tony thought he was brave, then maybe he was.

\--

At five o’clock, Peter started pacing, a bundle of nerves worming its way into his chest and thudding in time with his racing heart. He had to stop himself from crawling up onto the roof, and Tony watched him from the couch, pretending to tap on his phone.

At quarter past, Peter sat down next to Tony and couldn’t stop shaking. Tony gently grabbed his hand.

"You’ve got this, kid," he promised.

Peter swallowed. "You’re gonna stay with me?"

"The whole time. I’ll be right next to you."

At twenty past, F.R.I.D.A.Y. told them that May had arrived. Peter sucked in a breath.

"What if she doesn’t love me anymore?" The thought had been ringing in his head for months, and now it could happen. She could finally decide that enough was enough and kick him out. She was better off without him, after all.

Tony’s grip tightened. "Not even a possibility."

When she cautiously walked into the living room, still in her work scrubs and hair still tied back, he couldn’t get up to greet her. Tony got up and showed her to the seat beside them, and she looked just as scared as he felt. Her eyes were trailing him up and down, checking for injury or any sign he was hurt, but then they met his and his insides froze. The snake hissed.

"Hey, baby," May said quietly, anxiously.

Peter couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make his throat work. It felt like Joseph’s hand was wrapped around it, getting tighter and tighter. Seconds ticked by, and the silence was too thick and filled with anticipation, so heavy that it made it hard to breathe.

"Tony said that you had something to tell me," she prompted when she realised he wasn’t going to talk.

He nodded, just a little, and he glanced at Tony, pleading, hoping that he would change his mind, that he didn’t have to tell her. Tony just started rubbing slow circles on back.

"You can do this, kid," he murmured.

"I…" Peter made the mistake of looking at May. He had never seen her so scared, and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. She was still wearing her wedding ring, and it glinted in the light. "I… It’s about…"

Threats normally went right over Peter’s head. Spider-Man’s head, at least. Criminals screamed that they’d kill him on a daily basis, but Joseph’s threats had been different. Peter didn’t feel like Spider-Man when he was flinching away from a glass being thrown at his head or shying away from scathing words that were etched into him so deep that he wasn’t sure what thoughts were his own anymore. Joseph’s threats had every possibility of becoming true, and it had kept Peter’s mouth sewn shut and kept him drowning, alone, for so long. He couldn’t tell anyone, and he couldn’t ask for help, no matter how scared he was.

Except, May was sitting across from him and Tony was at his side, still rubbing circles on his back. Peter’s breath hitched, and it got caught in his throat, and he curled into Tony, squeezed his eyes shut when Tony wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

"I need help — Dad, please — I can’t —" Panic wasn’t so much as fluttering as it was stabbing, trampling through his chest. He could hear May’s heartbeat pick up. Tony’s grip around him tightened.

"It’s okay," Tony promised. Peter heard his heartbeat pick up, too, but Tony let out a slow breath. "May, you can’t blame yourself for this."

"Tony?" May’s voice trembled.

"Your partner, Joseph… He’s been hurting Peter."

When Peter was very young, Ben and May had taken him to the Stark Expo. He wore a plastic Iron Man mask and had a fake gauntlet. He saw Iron Man on stage, and when the drones starting firing into the crowds and people screamed and ran and pulled him away from his aunt and uncle, he rose up the cheap gauntlet and looked up at the towering drone as it aimed its gun at his head. He wanted to be brave like Iron Man, like Tony Stark. Iron Man swooped in and saved him and said ‘nice work, kid’ and flew off to save the rest of the world. It was a nice memory, something special that he hadn’t shut up about for weeks afterwards, and when Peter had told Tony, Tony had looked to the ceiling and said that of-fucking-course it had been him and shook his head with a fond sort of smile.

Tony had been helping Peter for longer than he knew.

"What?"

"Peter came to me last night after he had been hurt, and he told me," Tony explained.

"How…" May trailed off, and he didn’t have to turn his head and look at her to know the expression she was wearing; eyes distant and eyebrows pinched together, mouth slightly open as she tried to process what she had heard. "How long…"

Peter searched deep down, and tried to find bravery that he wasn’t sure he had. "Since he moved in," he said, throat dry. He stared at a minuscule rip in Tony’s old t-shirt. The shirt smelled like motor oil and expensive cologne. Silence enveloped them.

May was going to kick him out. She was going to realise what a mistake it had been to take him in all those years ago. She was going to hate him.

Her fingers were soft and gentle and warm when they cupped his face, made him look at her. Her eyes watered and he leaned into her hands.

"I’m sorry," he choked. "I’m so — I screwed up so bad —"

"No, baby, no," she said, soothing his hair, pulling him down so she could wrap her arms around him. "Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry. I’m going to fix this. We’re going to fix this."

He hugged her back, tightly, let her words wash over him. "I love you." His voice was strangled and gasping, and she pressed her lips to his forehead.

"I love you so much," May promised, and for the first time in six months, he felt like he could breath.

\--

Peter stopped counting months. The snake didn’t go away, not completely, but it slept most of the time. As the court date came closer, it hissed and coiled, so he watched a movie with May or went down to the lab with Tony until it settled. Sometimes he still felt like he was drowning and couldn’t breathe or think or do anything except curl up in bed. But the good days outweighed them. He felt like himself, like there wasn’t a shadow constantly hovering around him, watching and waiting for him to crack.

"Dude." Ned’s eyes were wide open, taking everything in around him with disbelief. " _Dude_."

Peter laughed and opened the door to his bedroom. Ned ran in, picking up the Lego figures and the posters and the PlayStation games.

"Dude, you have your own room in the Avengers Compound," he said, as if Peter hadn’t quite realised. "You have your own Lego Star Destroyer!"

"It’s actually really cool," Peter admitted, and stood next to Ned to admire it. "I made Mister Stark build it with me. He kept on complaining the whole time, but Happy said he saw him building some in the lab the other day."

Ned’s mouth fell open and he shook Peter by the shoulders. "You built Lego with _Iron Man._ "

Peter laughed again.

Later, when Ned had left and he was stacking the dishwasher with Tony after dinner, he bit his lip thoughtfully.

"Hey, Mister Stark?"

Tony looked up and raised an eyebrow. "I know that look. If you think you can get me to build literally anything related to Lego, I will lock you out of the lab for a goddamn week."

"You’d get lonely without me. And you love Lego," he grinned, and his smile widened when Tony rolled his eyes. "See? Can’t even disagree."

"I can and I will, kiddo," Tony said, leaning on the bench and crossing his arms.

"But that’s not what I wanted." He scratched the back of his neck. "I just wanted you to know… how much everything you’ve done for me means. I want to thank you."

Something in Tony’s face softened. "You don’t have to thank me, kid."

"Yeah, I do," Peter said. "If you didn’t convince me to tell Aunt May, or if you hadn’t figured out what was happening… I think either he would still be hurting me, or…"

He trailed off, swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

"Just… thank you." Peter wrapped his arms around Tony, hugged tighter when it was returned without hesitation.

"Who else would I have to worry about, if it wasn’t you?" Tony asked lightly.

Peter laughed, and he felt happier than he had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just gonna act like i haven't had this written for months n have been too afraid to post it lol
> 
> tysm for reading !! it really means a lot :)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this :,)
> 
> i think this is all just a way to practice my writing so feel free to leave feedback n judge me  
> have a lovely day / night !!


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